


Finders, Keepers

by MizJoely



Series: Sherlolly AU Prompts [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m the private investigator that was hired by your ex to track you down and you totally caught me sitting outside your apartment in a rental car so hi what up” AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finders, Keepers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Writingwife83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/gifts).



> Prompt from writingwife83. Enjoy!

She was made, damn it. So much for her fantastic undercover skills; she should have known it wasn’t going to be anywhere near as easy as she’d been promised it would be. “He’s a bit of a loner, doesn’t go out much, and when he does he’s pretty predictable. Kind of boring that way, drove me out of my skull, but damn I miss him.”

Those had been Victor Trevor’s exact words, spoken with a sort of rueful wistfulness that had captured Molly’s sympathy. Generally she didn’t let herself get involved in cases like this – she was much better at finding people who’d run off with a great deal of money, or their private secretary, or both – but Victor had seemed honestly unhappy about having broken up with this bloke, Sherlock Holmes, and even though it had been at least ten years, he’d finally decided to try to find him again. He’d given her his last known address – Montague Street – and where he’d gone to school – Cambridge, of course, which Victor had also attended – and that he’d been studying for his degree in chemistry. Once she tracked him down, she was to determine if he was romantically involved with anyone and let Victor know.

More importantly, the money was excellent: all fees paid for up front, a running allowance for expenses opened in her name with a reputable bank, and a very generous bonus promised if she found the target.

Who, at this moment, was walking directly toward her car with a grim expression on his face. Molly Hooper found herself facing the choice of driving off or letting him confront her.

She got out of the car; even though it might be best if she remained behind the wheel in order to make a fast getaway, she decided she’d rather face him on her feet, ready to use her martial arts training if necessary. Victor said he wasn’t violent, was the more bookish type, but judging by the storm brewing in those (really gorgeous) blue-green eyes of his, Sherlock Holmes might have changed a bit over the years.

He stopped a few feet in front of her, his eyes flicking over her from head to toe and back again, finally zeroing in on her face. “Hi, I’m Molly Hooper, a private detective hired by your ex to find you.” May as well take the bull by the horns.

Mr. Holmes’ eyes narrowed. “Victor Trevor,” he said with certainty. “He’s the only one daft enough to pull a prank like this.”

Molly frowned right back at him, not liking his dismissive tone. “I would hardly call hiring a private investigator to find you a ‘prank’, Mr. Holmes. As for who hired me…”

“It has to be Victor,” Holmes said, flicking one hand irritably. “I don’t have any actual ‘exes’ in my life.”

“Oh.” Molly was a bit taken aback. “So he wasn’t your boyfriend?” She ignored the stirring of interest at this revelation; having believed him to be gay, she hadn’t allowed herself more than wistful sigh at the picture Victor had given her, or the actual face and form of the man confronting her now.

“I don’t do boyfriends,” Holmes sneered. “Or girlfriends,” he added pointedly, and Molly felt her face flushing with mortification; had he read her interest in her question, or had she given something away with the flick of an eye? Victor had said his ex – Sherlock – was really good at reading people from their micro-expressions or how they tied their ties, that sort of thing, so he probably saw her sudden personal interest. Bollocks. She hated being unprofessional.

“Well then, it’s your lucky day, Mr. Holmes, because I’m not looking for either,” Molly snapped. She reached into her pocket and held out the card Victor had given her with his contact information on it. A bit old fashioned, but when he explained that Sherlock might catch her, no matter how good she was, she appreciated having something to give the man. “Here.” She shoved the card at him; he took it, glanced at, did a bit of a double-take, then stared at her with sudden interest. “What?” Molly asked, reaching up automatically to her face, making sure there wasn’t some sort of food remains that he was about to make fun of her for.

“You only have this job to help pay for family expenses accrued by your father’s recent death. As soon as you can help you family – mother and two, no three, younger sisters – get back on their collective feet, you plan to resume your interrupted studies at university. Medical school, judging by the texts on the passenger seat, Cambridge if that old parking sticker in your window is anything to go by – good choice, consistently in the top ten, and if you were accepted and confident of going back – else you’d have scraped the sticker off by now – then you’re not only intelligent but a hard worker as well. Unmarried, no current boyfriend, one cat, and you’re entirely sick of living at home.” He clapped his hands together and gave her a grin. “Excellent! I must remember to thank Victor.”

“For what? For trying to find you?” Molly managed to ask in spite of the sudden daze into which she’d fallen at Holmes’ rapid-fire – and dead-on accurate – deductions about her.

“Nope,” he said, popping the p in an obnoxious manner before reaching out and seizing her hand in a firm handshake. “For sending me exactly the person I most needed in my life right now. You see, John’s gone off and got married, so I need someone who can help me out on cases. I’m a forensic pathologist, do a lot of work for the Met, and a private investigator with a medical background is perfect, brilliant, when can you move in?”

Molly pulled her hand free of his and backpedaled, stopped only when she bumped into the side of her car. “I’m sorry – what? Move in? You just said you weren’t looking for a girlfriend, and I can promise you Mr. Holmes –”

“Call me Sherlock,” he interrupted her with a winning smile.

“Mr. Holmes,” Molly repeated firmly. “What the hell is going on here? Because I can tell I wasn’t actually hired to find you, not by the way you’re reacting. If you and Vic…Mr. Trevor…have cooked up some sort of scheme to…” She fell silent, not quite sure how to finish the sentence, but hoping that her angry glare would be enough to get her point across. She folded her arms across her chest and took a breath, about to make her icy goodbyes, when Holmes once again interrupted her.

“Not a scheme, don’t be ridiculous, what could we possibly have to gain by playing you? No, Victor simply saw that you were exactly the sort of person I needed in my life and made sure to steer us together the most expedient way possible – by presenting me with a mystery, since I had no idea why anyone would set a private investigator on my tail, and by making sure you were well compensated for your troubles – you were, yes? Victor had boatloads of money, more than he knows what to do with, and he’s always been very conscientious about making sure people are well-paid for their services no matter what he hires them for.”

He whipped out a phone from his back pocket and began typing away at lightning speed, talking to her the entire time. “You’ve looked me up so you know I work at St. Bart’s Hospital and can talk to my supervisor Mike Stamford there to verify that I’m neither a nutter nor a mad rapist or serial killer. My contacts at NSY include DI Lestrade – I forget his first name, Gavin or George, something like that – and his trusty right hand, Sergeant Sally Donovan.” He flashed her a grin. “She hates me, but that’s all right – she’s the most honest person I’ve ever met, poor taste in men aside, and will give you the run-down on my many, many faults. Once you’ve verified my credentials – which I know you will since I can tell this conversation is interesting you, since you haven’t told me to piss off and jumped back in your car to drive away – you can talk to my landlady and John as well. John Watson, works at a clinic with his wife not too far from Bart’s. He’s an ex-army officer so his credentials will be easy enough to verify as well. So,” he said, coming abruptly to a stop and folding his hands behind his back, still holding his phone. “What do you say, Molly Hooper? Would you care to enter into partnership with a slightly eccentric forensic pathologist who rather enjoys solving crimes people think they’re clever enough to get away with?”

Molly replied to this barrage of words by staring at him, opening her mouth, closing it, blinking a few times, and finally managing to say, “Um…”

“Excellent!” Holmes said again with another wide grin. “As soon as you verify everything, be sure to call. I’ve already sent my mobile number to your phone, the extra room's on the second floor, rest of the flat’s on the first, landlady’s on ground next to Speedy’s.” He dug into his pocket again and pulled out a key. “This is to the front door, the flat’s never locked but if you insist we’ll get some keys made for that as well. Mrs. Hudson isn’t big on pets but I’m sure we’ll be able to talk her round since your cat is older. Ta!”

With that he was gone in a swirl of dark coat, leaving Molly gaping after him as he hurried down the street, flagging a cab and climbing inside without a single glance backwards.

Two weeks later, feeling a bit like Alice down the rabbit hole, Molly found herself ensconced at 221B Baker Street – although, after their first, exhilarating case together, chasing down a serial killer, Molly never slept in the upstairs bedroom ever again.

So much for neither of them looking for a relationship – which, Victor Trevor thought smugly when they invited him to their wedding a year later, was exactly how he’d expected things to pan out.


End file.
